This morning, dear Mutz, I received your Christmas letter. You may imagine how it gratified me; for, candidly speaking, it really is a good sign when one sees that a pleasure is still to be given to somebody one's fond of. To be sure, you take it very ill of me if I refer to your state of health; and then you say nasty, nasty things to me which certainly had better stay unsaid, nay, even unthought: but I myself am in none too sound a skin, not to place Health in the forefront of communications to persons who lie close to my heart. I often have evil days, when I leave my bed after a bad night with a profound inward shudder, and in mute despair review my wretched toilsome life that hangs on nothing save my utmost courage now: don't you believe I would gladly see a kind and willing partner of my life approach me then to cheer, distract, encourage me? Again, when I have slept well for once, feel peace and comfort budding in my tortured nerves, the sun laughs in at the window, then maybe I think: Were it with thy wife as now with thee, were peace and comfort to re-enter her shaken frame, why shouldn't it be feasible for you both to pass a blithe old age together yet? Health helps toward everything; without it no good fortune would avail!
So I rejoice when I hear you're picking up, that you're looking well, that even your tormenting heart-ill may abate at last. And I brew my tea, help myself, trip myself up, sigh over the discomfort of my situation; finally I form plans how and where to make oneself cosy again some day: soon everything looks feasible, because the strength to hope and will has found a base once more. Then I write you, tell you of my joy, my wishes; — your answer comes: the harmless castle in the air is blown to shreds; the Wagner Family is shot upon me, and —
Don't be cross with me, but — when I wrote you last about your health with hope and joy, quite innocently I was only thinking that the best good luck in life might come too late if Health had vanished. Allow me this time, surely! to excuse your reprimand on the sole plea that you still are really ailing; for which I profoundly pity you — and more than you'll believe! —
But let us drop that! — I couldn't quite pass it over, though I certainly am bound to think I act unwisely to reply at all to such odious observations, which wound me to the quick, nay, drive me to desperation. Does remorse never seize you, then, for such a thing? —
Ah!! — enough! — I'm suffering too, you see: a little mercy! nothing more! —
I dined at Flaxland's again to-day: I delivered your greetings, but spared them the kisses. They were greatly delighted with your delight. Another hint about the hurdy-gurdy: if you wind up the barrel as far as you can, it goes too fast; with only one winding, it plays very slowly: so just a few turns, and the tunes will be played slow enough. —
I wrote to Leopoldine yesterday, inviting myself to dinner for Sunday; to-day she answers me that her children have measles and scarlet fever, which her husband himself is afraid of catching, so I mustn't think of risking it. I've dined with Gasperini several times at the restaurant. I learnt the death of Count Pourtalès from the Journal; I went to the embassy at once, but was unable to catch Hatzfeld until some days after. This bereavement has certainly been a great shock to me, and moved me to genuine sorrow; I shall call on the Countess in a day or two. Imagine it, that poor Roche also died a short time back!
On your advice of to-day, I've left a card on the Eberty. — I shan't present myself at Metternich's till the last of this month; I purposely wouldn't embarrass them, as they really cannot take me in before the beginning of January. Should this fall through again — which I refuse to fear! — undoubtedly I shouldn't know why I need remain in Paris. God would know whither then! Perhaps to Wiesbaden. But there, I won't think of it! —
How I'm racking my brains every day over a speedy re-settlement! If you only knew (unfortunately you don't!) how things stand in my innermost depths, what resignation on all sides is confirming itself more and more in me! I want rest, nothing save rest: equilibrium, full undisturbed home safety! My last glimpse into the ways of German Opera has contributed so much to that: ah, to have as little as possible to do with it! I shall let them present my new comic opera wherever they like, and not take a peep at it! Simply and solely — rest, and — work: for it is only at work I am quite in my element, safe, cheerful, and myself; I cannot be responsible for the performances! — With the Meistersinger I expect to do good paying business soon: then the Tristan will surely also bring something in at last; whilst I still have other easier-given subjects in my head. I daresay one might even manage to pull through unhelped, at some cheap place where one could carefully install oneself in peace and quiet. It would be well, of course, if the Berliners would pay me at least a small fixed pension in lieu of the uncertain tantième; but — I can't wait much longer, I absolutely need domestic order and convenience. Otherwise I'm accustoming myself to live simpler and simpler: I no longer sport silk and velvet in the house; I dress complete the first thing in the morning, and wear a short cloth jacket: I catch in things less like that, and also feel less weight. But that by the way. Where I'm to live, at what spot, among what people, — all that's becoming more and more indifferent to me: I find that every place has its good and bad sides, and the main consideration is a quiet life free of care in one's own house — for work!!
For some time past I haven't been quite well again; God knows if it is chagrin, care, disgust? My stomach won't get right, and sometimes I'm afraid of last year's fever; only, people tell me that doesn't return so soon, after one has had it. Mad. Flaxland gave me salts to-day; I hope they'll do me good. — For the rest, I'm in my working fit now; you know no day dare pass then, without I've been at it. At 10 I breakfast; then from 11 or ½ past until 3 or 4 I sit at my rhyming, which constantly enlivens me. Then a little walk, an errand, food; after which back home, as a rule, to my 10 ft long by 9 ft broad cubicle, where I write letters — as this instant — or read a book. I have also been a few times to the minor theatres, to procure myself good sleep. Above all I avoid much talking, and therefore very seldom pay a call.
Now for finances. I can imagine you are running dry; yet it's difficult to send you anything from here at once. My last Schottian advance won't go much farther, especially as the little tailor, whom I owed 500 fr. still, has dunned me hard; I was obliged to shew my face to him, or he'd probably have made awkward enquiries at the Prussian embassy. As I shan't need to spend much more myself when — and if I go to Metternich's, I shouldn't care to ask Schott for a fresh advance before February, when he is coming to Paris, — in fact, that is what we arranged. There accordingly remains my Berlin tantième for you to go on with: they've given something of mine, I know, so there will be something ready for you there in any case. I hardly suppose you can wait until the 15th January; therefore allow me to give orders to Bülow tomorrow to make enquiries and send you something anyhow. —
The stove-screen gives me great delight: you know how often I've reproached you for giving away the first specimen. So I may hope to have it always in my study in our future home; you will accustom yourself, let us trust, to the idea of its being admired by me yet in your lifetime. Accept my best thanks in advance for the attention! — The splendid socks, too, have arrived at last, and with them the Silver-bridegroom's cup, which affected me very peculiarly. The whole Silver notion doesn't quite appeal to me: my God, one celebrates such festivals in the bosom of one's family when everything is standing well and prospering. But what family have we? We have drifted far out of touch with our relatives, you know, and there's no true bond whatever there. No: if we really taste the happiness of rest and fixity at last, then — then we'll celebrate another wedding, and that might rather be the Golden right off; which folk might surely grant us harassed pair to take a little early. This time it wouldn't let itself be forced, and every allusion to it has had something too mournful in my eyes for me to dwell upon it willingly. Put a good construction on that, please! —
Now my greetings to N.: she might at least have been keeping her Pewter wedding by now! — Reciprocate the others' greetings also, but don't let yourself be pestered with the photographs; it's sheer effrontery, and mendicancy into the bargain: infamous new fashion! These things aren't got for nothing; and why the Devil should one pay for such rubbish for every goose who keeps a silly album? Don't promise it; I haven't any, and should have to get them sent expressly from Vienna for hard cash!
There, I've been and got quite cross again, after writing myself back into a good temper! Ah God, indeed, indeed I am good! I'm always glad when I can smooth my brow again and shew a smiling face. If you could only cease your worriting at last, Heaven help us; you can't think how nonsensical the crooked stuff appears to me! Yet it seems to do you thorough good, continually to paint yourself black pictures of me! God bless me, tho', I shall be catching it again, however well 'twas meant. You must be in the right — there's nothing else for it; and however much your in-the-right may hurt you, no matter, you are not to be talked out of it! — Do be sensible, old girl, and realise what needless agonies you give yourself! Furnish me a nice home this New Year, a fine big working-room for me (now become my chief passion!), quiet, good living, two dogs, ach! and then a horse besides! — Get fat cheeks (but don't take that amiss!), be good and let bygones be bygones (I promise you to do the same), and — you shall see what a good husband you have! —
I wish myself the above with all my heart for the New Year: if you want to share it, share my wish! For my part I wish for nothing more on God's broad earth! Amen!
Good luck!
Thy most affectionate Spouse and Husband!
Source: Richard to Minna Wagner: Letters to His First Wife, trans. William Ashton Ellis, Vol. 2 (Charles Scribner's Sons, 1909), No. 226